I Won't Let You Fall
by Little Creek
Summary: Dean is always there for his little brother. A collection of short stories. Angst, hurt/comfort, whump, and plenty of brotherly love.
1. I Need You

**I ****Won't Let You Fall**

_Over the years, Dean's always been there for Sam. Hurt/comfort, angst, whump, and brotherly love._

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters in this story. Story title is from Nickelback's song "Never Gonna Be Alone," which I don't own either.

**A/N:** I started to write this first chapter just for the fun of it, and then I wrote another one. Originally it was titled "Wake Me Up," and was about how Dean comforts Sam after a nightmare, but after the second chapter I got stuck. So I changed it to include any and all moments where Dean comforts Sam. My first Supernatural fanfic, and all mistakes are still mine.

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><p><strong>Chapter One: I Need You<strong>

_**October 1991 (Dean: 12 – Sam: 8)**_

Sam struggles, panicking, feeling the monster's solid arms wrapping even tighter around his writhing body. He tries to scream, but all that comes out is a muffled whimper. The creature's face is inches from his own, a low growl in its throat every time it exhales. It's not tiring, but Sam is. In a last, desperate attempt to escape, Sam throws himself to the side, rolling, and then suddenly he's falling. His body connects with a solid surface half a second later, momentarily knocking the wind out of him.

"Sam?"

Dean's voice breaks through the fog in his mind. He's lying on his back on the dirty motel carpet and his heart's hammering so hard it feels like it's about to burst out of his chest. It's dark, sometime in the middle of the night.

"Sammy?"

Dean's there, leaning over him, grabbing Sam's arms.

"What's wrong?"

His lips move but he can't force the words through the lump in his throat. He struggles to sit up, and Dean pulls him into his arms.

"It's ok, you're safe now, Sammy. I'm here. I've got you."

Tears start to roll down Sam's cheeks, and he buries his face in Dean's shoulder. He's not sure why he's crying but he can't stop. Dean just holds him tighter, murmurs softly in his ear.

"You're safe. I'm here. It's ok."

Dean pauses in his assurances, and then mutters,

"I'm never letting you watch Star Wars again."

Dean didn't need Sam to tell him – he already knew what his little brother had been dreaming about. The way the eight year old had curled against Dean's side every time Darth Vader had come on screen had told Dean all he needed to know.

**END**

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><p><strong>AN: **next chapter will be up in the next few days, hopefully. I'm also working on a third chapter. I have no idea how many chapters it'll end up with. I'll likely just add to it when the mood strikes me, or I come across an old story that fits the criteria.


	2. Take It All Back

**I ****Won't Let You Fall**

_Over the years, Dean's always been there for Sam. Hurt/comfort, angst, whump, and brotherly love._

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters in this story. Story title and chapter titles are from Nickelback's song "Never Gonna Be Alone," which I don't own either.

**A/N: **I'm overwhelmed at the amount of people following this story. Thank you so much! And thanks to AlwaysAwake12, my first reviewer. There's a bit of angst in this chapter. Hopefully it lives up to your expectations!

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Take It All Back<strong>

**January 1992 (Dean: 12 – Sam: 8)**

Dean isn't sure what woke him, but suddenly he was awake and his hand was gripping the handle of the knife he always kept under his pillow. He lies still, keeps his breathing slow and even and eyes closed, feigning sleep while he lets his ears and nose suss out the danger. There are no odd smells, no sulphur, no icy breeze washing over him. Something's just _off_. Then he hears something – a hitching breath, almost a muffled sob. Small, frightened. _Sam_. Dean is out of bed in an instant, knife still in his hand, eyes darting around the room, searching for the monster that was hurting Sam. Nothing moves in the darkness except Sam, curled up on his bed under a too-thin blanket, his face mashed into the pillow to muffle the sobs.

"Sam?" Dean whispers, afraid to startle his little brother.

The only response he gets was a loud sniff, and Dean gives a final glance around the room before he slips the knife back under his pillow and moves over to Sam.

"Sammy?"

"S' too dark," he mumbles, muffled by the pillow.

Dean crosses the room to turn on the light, his footsteps heavy with more than the usual just-woke-up sluggishness. Since Sam had learned the truth about what their father did for a job, the darkness was something to be feared even more than before. Dean sighs as he flicked the switch, flooding the room in light. Sam snuffles as Dean sits down beside him, finally raising his head out of the pillow. His eyes are too wide as he looks up, breaths still catching in his throat and several tears rolling from each eye. Sam tosses the blanket aside and throws his arms around his big brother, pressing his ear against Dean's chest where he can feel the steady beat of Dean's heart.

"Was scared, Dean. Was too dark."

He takes a deep breath but didn't move from Dean's arms.

"It's ok. Nothing bad's gonna happen to you while I'm here."

"'m scared of the dark," Sam mumbles, and pulls in another hitching breath, "Sleep with you, Dean?"

It doesn't matter that they haven't shared a bed since Sam was six and insisted he was old enough to have his own bed.

"Yeah, ok. Let me turn out the light, first, ok?"

Sam doesn't answer straight away, trying to decide if sleeping with Dean would keep him safe in the darkness. Then he nods, and pulls away from Dean. Dean flicks off the light, plunging the room into solid darkness, until his eyes adjust. The dark doesn't scare him – he's double checked the salt lines and he has a knife under his pillow. But little, sensitive Sammy… Dean wants nothing more than to take back everything he and Dad had told Sam about how real monsters were.

**END**

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><p><strong>AN: **Let me know what you think of this! Next chapter coming soon. This one breaks the pattern a bit - less angst, more whump.


	3. Til The Hurt Is Gone

**I ****Won't Let You Fall**

_Over the years, Dean's always been there for Sam. Hurt/comfort, angst, whump, and brotherly love._

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters in this story. Story title and chapter titles are from Nickelback's song "Never Gonna Be Alone," which I don't own either.

**A/N: **so... I've written this chapter a bit differently than the last two. And it's very short.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three: 'Til The Hurt Is Gone<strong>

**July 1997 (Dean: 18 – Sam: 14)**

"Dad…" Whispered words scrape across his throat, raw from screaming.

"It's ok. Just be quiet." Soothing, controlled.

A twig cracks, leaves rustle.

"Dean?" A firm hand presses against his chest.

"He's right here. Don't move, Sam."

Pain explodes in his leg, and he screams again, arching off the damp ground.

"Son of a..." Quiet, fierce. _Dean._ Anger masking fear. A hand takes his.

"I'm here, Sammy."

He grips the hand like it's a lifeline.

"Ease up, kiddo. You're gonna break my hand." A soft chuckle, but it's forced.

Sam blinks tears out of his eyes, feels them running into his hairline.

"Dean…"

"I know, Sammy. I know. Just hang in there, ok?"

Movement, pressure, pain. Sam whimpers.

"Ok. Let's go." _Dad._ Always in control.

Dean's hand slips from his before he can stop it. Strong arms lifting him, pulling him against a firm chest, carrying him. _Dad._ Walking, footsteps sure. A door opens, the low creak a familiar sound. _Impala._ Two sets of hands sit him on the backseat, and he leans against something that's too warm to be the side of the car.

"Dean…" Because he needs it to be Dean he's leaning against.

"I'm here, Sammy."

The door slams. Sam flinches. His hand searches for Dean's, and finds it.

"Just hang on. It's gonna be ok." Soft, steady.

Another door slams, but Sam doesn't flinch this time. The Impala rumbles to life. Familiar. Safe. _Home._

**END**

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><p><strong>AN: **thirteen followers (and three faves, wow!), but only two reviews? I have two chapters to go after this one, and I'm kind of stuck for ideas. So if anybody has a scene they'd like to read here, let me know and I'll see if I can write it for you!


	4. Trust Me, Dean

**I ****Won't Let You Fall**

_Over the years, Dean's always been there for Sam. Hurt/comfort, angst, whump, and brotherly love._

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters in this story. Story title is from Nickelback's song "Never Gonna Be Alone," which I don't own either.

**A/N: **Thanks Shannanigans for reviewing and leaving a request, I will try to get it written for you soon! As for this chapter, it's the longest one so far, but I'm not real happy with how it turned out, and I'm posting it anyway before I can change my mind.

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><p><strong>Chapter Four: Trust Me, Dean<strong>

**(Dean: 19 – Sam: 15)**

"Dean."

Sam's exasperated, and the look on his face is pure frustration. Dean just shakes his head and pulls his arm closer to his chest, clutching it protectively with his other hand.

"Just wait for Dad," Dean repeats for the hundredth time.

"Dean, your shoulder..."

Dean almost snarls, lips twisting and rising, but it turns into a grimace instead.

"I know." And there's venom in his voice.

Sam moves closer, slowly, like he's worried Dean's going to run, hands up in a nonthreatening manner, but Dean can see the first aid kit open on the bed behind him, contents strewn over the blanket, and Sam seems _very _threatening.

"Dean, c'mon. Dad showed me how to do it."

He smiles, a hesitant, crooked grin. Dean shakes his head again, steps back, trying to keep his distance.

"No."

Sam doesn't give up. He loses the smile and tries to stare Dean down. Good luck to him, Dean thinks, glaring back at his little brother. Sam huffs, his too-long hair falling across his eyes.

"Deeeaaan…" Sam draws out the name like a teenage girl, and Dean imagines the eye roll that would usually accompany such a tone in a chick.

"No."

Sam frowns, shifts his weight, looks up at Dean with those pathetic lost puppy eyes that he knows Dean can't say no to. And Dean can't. Can't keep saying no when Sam's gazing at him with those huge hazel eyes, silently begging Dean _trust me. _Sam knows when Dean's giving in, and he can't help the triumphant grin that shows all his teeth when Dean's glare softens.

"Come here. Sit on the bed."

And just like that, Dean's perched on the edge of the hard mattress, and Sam's all nervous energy he's trying to hide. His hands are on Dean's shoulder when he hesitates, wide eyes darting around the motel room, landing on the door like he's finally realizing he can't do this and how much they need Dad to be there.

"Sammy," Dean says firmly, and Sam's eyes flick back to his.

"Y-yeah. I know."

Dean tries to relax, but he knows it's going to hurt, and that he'll scream and Sam will feel awful for hurting him, which is the reason Dean wanted to wait for their dad to get back. He hates to see the guilt plastered on his little brother's face every time Sam has to patch him up. But Dean's not stupid – he knows his shoulder needs to be popped back in sooner rather than later, and Sam's the only one who can do it. But Sam doesn't move.

"You wanna… bite something? While I do this, like, uh, I could get a…"

Sam's trying to put it off, stalling. For all his bravado, now that it's come down to the actual moment, he's terrified and it's showing.

"Just do it!" Dean snaps, too tired and hurting to be gentle.

Dean's not expecting Sam to actually go through with it, and the sudden agony catches him by surprise. His teeth are clenched, but the yell still forces its way out and he thinks he's gonna be sick, and then the world goes dark and hazy. Sam's freakishly long arms wrap around him, lowering him to the bed, the back of his head dropping into a too flat pillow.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he hears Sam mumbling over and over.

Sam's shaking as he pulls Dean's boots off, pulls the blankets over him. Dean fights his way out of the haze.

"Sam… This is _your_ bed."

He struggles to sit up, blinking away the darkness, winces at the pain in his shoulder. Sam pushes him down, and he's strong.

"I've gotta be closer to the door, Sammy. I gotta protect you."

Did he just say that? The pain must be messing with his head. Dad's drummed it into his head so often – watch out for Sammy – but he's not sure why he said it out loud.

"Not tonight, Dean. You're injured, man. C'mon, just let me protect you. Just for tonight, Dean. _Please_."

Dean stills, green eyes gazing into hazel, and then he gives in. He's too tired to fight.

"Ok. Just for tonight."

Sam nods.

"Check the salt line."

Sam checks them.

"They're all good."

Dean tries to raise himself up on one elbow to see for himself, but Sam pushes him down.

"_Trust me_, Dean."

But this time it's not the puppy eyes that Sam's staring at him with. There's confidence and determination and _I'll protect you, Dean_ in the brown-green depths instead. Dean closes his eyes, one hand by his side, the other draped across his stomach. His next words are slurred, but he forces them out anyway.

"When Dad gets in, have him check the lines too. Just in case you broke 'em with those giant feet of yours and didn't notice coz you're so freakin' tall."

It's the best insult his fuzzy brain can come up with.

"Dean…" and Dean doesn't have to open his eyes to know what look Sam's giving him this time.

**END**

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><p><strong>AN: **Of course it goes both ways - Dean's there for Sam, and Sam's there for Dean. And no, I've never had a dislocated anything, so please forgive any errors. And please review!


	5. Something To Hold On To

**I ****Won't Let You Fall**

_Over the years, Dean's always been there for Sam. Hurt/comfort, angst, whump, and brotherly love._

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters in this story. Story title is from Nickelback's song "Never Gonna Be Alone," which I don't own either.

**A/N: **Thanks to those who reviewed, followed, and favourited! This chapter was written for my sister who wanted a "more detailed hurt scene with no loose ends." I discovered a prompt on the OhSam livejournal, which gave me the idea for this chapter's plot. And **Shannanigans**, the chapter you requested is finished and I'll be posting it in the next few days!_  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter Five: Something To Hold On To<strong>

**(Dean: 19 – Sam: 15)**

It's raining. Not very heavily, but enough to make outdoors a miserable place.

"Take Sam to the woods, Dean. Do some tracking work," Dad had said.

Sam had protested straight away, and Dad had told him there'd be times he'd be hunting in bad weather, so he may as well get used to it. And that's how Dean found himself crunching through the leaves, trying to leave a clear enough trail for Sam to follow. Then a scream cuts through the damp air, and Dean's running towards it, his heart racing, because that's Sam screaming. He finds Sam on the ground, eyes too wide in a white face. There's nobody there, nobody but Sam.

"Sam? What's wrong, what-?"

He cuts off as his eyes reach Sam's right ankle. A trap is attached to it, and it looks like the spikes have gone straight through Sam's boot and into his skin. Dean's stomach flips.

"Dean…" Sam grounds out through gritted teeth.

Dean drops to his knees on the damp ground, hands hovering over Sam's leg, afraid to touch him in case it hurts, but he has to get the trap off.

"Don't move, Sammy," he says, fighting to keep his voice steady.

He finally gets his hands to move, but there's no release mechanism for the trap. He tries to pull it open, but it's wet and rusty and Dean's hands slip. Sam muffles a scream with his forearm, biting his jacket sleeve to keep the cries inside.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Dean's heart pounds and he can't stop his hands from shaking.

He can't get the trap off. Sam's shaking and he still has his face pressed into his arm. The rain's heavier now and water's dripping off Dean's nose, plastering his hair flat against his head.

"Sammy, I… I can't get it off, I gotta go back, get Dad, I can't…" Dean tries to explain, but his thoughts are disjointed and the words come out all wrong and he's sure he's not making sense.

Sam finally lifts his head, and Dean sees the muscles in his jaw tensing, and when he talks it's like he has to unlock his jaw between each word.

"Dean… I… don't… want…"

He gives up with a groan of pain, and digs his fingers into his knee, eyes closing as he drops his head onto the ground. Dean squeezes Sam's shoulder.

"I've got to get Dad, Sammy."

It comes out right this time.

"Don't… Don't go…" Sam mumbles into his sleeve.

He knows he's being irrational, but he doesn't care because his leg's caught in a trap and it hurts and Dean's going to leave him there in the rain.

"Sam, I have to. I can't get the trap off, I gotta get Dad. I'll be right back, Sammy. Stay still and be quiet. I'll be right back, ok?"

Sam shivers, and sniffs, and nods.

"Good boy," Dean says, and gives Sam a last pat on the shoulder before he takes off, sprinting through the trees.

He comes out on the forest and there's a road, right there. He hadn't realized how close they were to the road. And then he's running again, and before he knows it there's the house. Dean charges up the steps, nearly trips, and swings the door open so hard it smacks the wall. Dad frowns, opens his mouth to growl at Dean, but Dean cuts him off.

"Sam's hurt, he got his leg in a trap, and I couldn't get it off, I had to leave him there…" Dean bursts out in one breath, and Dad's already on his feet, grabbing a coat and tools and a first aid kit.

"Get in the car, Dean," Dad orders.

Dean stumbles to the Impala, sliding into the shotgun seat. Dad dumps his gear in the backseat as he climbs in, starting the engine and closing the door at about the same time.

"How far?" he asks.

Dean's run is finally catching up with him and he leans heavily against the door.

"Uh, not far. Just up the road, but we'll have to walk a little bit…"

He trails off as the Impala roars down the road, Dad's hands too tight on the wheel.

"I got to the road right here," Dean says, and the car hits the gravel shoulder faster than it should.

Dad gets out, shuts the door a bit harder than usual. He grabs a crowbar and shoves the first aid kit into Dean's hand. It's still raining and Dean shivers in his wet clothes.

"Where, Dean?" Dad asks, and Dean leads him into the forest.

It's not this far, he's missed Sam; he's gone the wrong way… Dean's heart starts to race as they trudge through the leaves, bare branches occasionally catching his jacket, tugging, slowing him down. Then there's a flash of colour through the trees, and Dean breaks into a sprint, reaching Sam's still body seconds before Dad.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean's down on his knees, and Sam's sprawled mostly face-down on the muddy, leafy ground.

"Wolf trap. Could be worse," Dad says as he looks at Sam's ankle, "He's lucky."

Dean thinks Sam's anything but lucky right now.

"Roll him over, slowly," Dad says, voice tense.

Dean glances over at Dad, who's crouched by Sam's leg, ready to keep it steady as they roll him over. There's so much blood and Dean feels another shiver run through him.

"Dean!"

Dean jumps at the sharp tone his father uses, and his hands shake as he rolls Sam onto his back. Sam's eyes are closed, his face pale.

"Sammy?"

Something's lodged in Dean's throat, making it hard to breathe. Sam's chest rises and falls too fast under Dean's hand.

"He's unconscious," Dean states unnecessarily.

"Good," is Dad's response, already prying the trap open, "Get a bandage for this."

Dean reaches over and grabs the first aid kit. The bandages are right on top and Dean passes one to Dad, trying hard not to look at Sam's leg. The trap's off now and the leg of Sam's jeans are soaked with blood and rain. Dean grits his teeth and brushes dark hair away from Sam's eyes. Then Dad's nudging him aside and lifting Sam into his own arms, and they're walking back to the Impala through the steady rain. Dean slips into the backseat with Sam falling across him, both soaking wet and Sam's heavy in his arms. Back at the house, Dad lays Sam on the couch, and Sam's head lolls weakly against the cushions. In moments Sam's wet clothes are stripped off and he's covered with the blankets, his wounded leg left exposed. Dean gets his first good look at the injury when Dad removes the blood-soaked bandage and his stomach does another flip. There's a row of deep, ragged holes around Sam's swollen ankle.

"Bleeding's stopped. It's not broken," Dad says, just as Sam begins to stir, "Dean?"

Dean doesn't have to be asked twice. He's crouched by Sam in a second, grabbing Sam's t-shirt clad shoulders, looking into his barely open eyes.

"Sam? Sammy, you hear me?"

Sam groans, and mumbles something Dean can't make out.

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes flutter open and he reaches a shaking hand in Dean's direction.

"Don't leave me, Dean. Don't go…" he slurs badly, and his eyes gaze blankly at something over Dean's shoulder.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you."

And the lump in his throat is back. Sam shivers as his eyes start to clear.

"M'cold," he mumbles.

Dean wraps the blankets tighter around Sam's shivering body. He even holds Sam's hand as Dad cleans the wounds and then wraps Sam's ankle with a clean bandage, and Dean forgets everything he said about how girly holding hands was.

"Dean, get changed into something dry," Dad says, when he's finished and Sam's passed out again, and Dean untangles Sam's long fingers from the front of his shirt.

"I'll be right back, Sam," just like in the forest and Dean shivers.

He's cold and his wet clothes are sticking to him, and he changes as fast as he can so he can be with Sam again. Sam's still out of it when he comes back into the room. Dad sits at the table and starts flicking through a newspaper. The clock ticks by – ten minutes, then fifteen, and finally Sam's eyes flutter open. He glances around the room with half-open eyes and then looks at Dean.

"Dean?" he murmurs, sounding all of five years old again.

Dean pats Sam's shoulder.

"Right here, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

His little brother's mumble lacks any real conviction, but Dean nods anyway, and a small smile turns up the corners of his mouth. The fact that Sam never protested the use of the nickname in the woods says a lot about how much pain he was in, so Dean's fine with getting told off about it this time.

"Yeah, ok. How you doing?"

Sam looks like he's thinking about his answer and the hands of the clock move three times before he responds. Dad looks over, but stays where he is.

"M'good," he says.

"Ankle bothering you?" Dean asks.

"A little, I guess."

Sam rubs a hand over his face and sighs deeply.

"You need anything for it?" Dean asks, but Sam shakes his head.

"I'm ok."

"Ok."

There's a long, awkward silence, broken only by the relentless _tick, tick, tick_ of the clock on the wall and the shuffling of Dad's paper. Dean shifts uncomfortably, his legs feeling numb from crouching on the floor too long.

"Hey, I'm, uh, gonna grab a chair…" Dean gestures vaguely towards the kitchen.

"Ok," is Sam's only response, but Dean doesn't really expect anything more.

He stands, his legs twinging, and then prickling as the blood rushes into them again. When he comes back, carrying a chair and a glass of water, Sam's gazing at the ceiling. Dean puts the chair down a little harder than necessary, but Sam doesn't move.

"Sam? You still with me?" Dean says, and pats Sam's arm.

Sam jumps and his head turns to look at Dean.

"Yeah. Yeah."

"Got you some water," Dean says, and then pulls a bottle of painkillers from his pocket, "and these."

Sam frowns, but Dean knows he's in pain, and he helps Sam sit up enough to take a few pills, and drink without spilling the water. When Sam's done, Dean puts the mostly empty glass on the floor and leans back in his chair. There's another long silence.

"How long do I have to stay off my feet?" Sam asks softly.

"Couple of days at least," it's Dad who answers, "You'll be taking it easy for a while."

Sam scowls and seems to sink deeper into the couch. Dean pats him on the arm a little harder than necessary.

"S'ok, Sammy. I'll bring you some magazines and pie, ok?"

That gets a smile out of his little brother.

"That's what _you_ like when _you're_ laid up, Dean," Sam reminds him, "And it's Sam."

Dean grins, and glances over at Dad who's watching their exchange with barely hidden amusement. Sam's ok, they're warm and dry and safe, and he finally feels like he can tease Sam again.

"Yeah, sure thing, Sammy."

**END**

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><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading, and reviews are very much appreciated.


	6. I'm Here For You

**I ****Won't Let You Fall**

_Over the years, Dean's always been there for Sam. Hurt/comfort, angst, whump, and brotherly love._

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters in this story. Story title is from Nickelback's song "Never Gonna Be Alone," which I don't own either.

**A/N: **This chapter's for **Shannanigans**, who wanted some drunk/drugged or concussed Sam. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter Six: I'm Here For You<strong>

**(set some time in season one)**

Dean winces as Sam flies across the cemetery, only stopping when he smashes into a gravestone, and then he lies on the ground, too still. Dean wants to drop everything and run to Sam, and for once he actually gets to do just that – he tosses the lit match into the open grave in front of him, the ghost vanishes, and Dean scrambles to his brother's side.

"Sam?"

Sam's unconscious and there's a gash on his forehead, but he frowns as Dean pats his cheek.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Dean says.

Sam groans as he tries to bat Dean's hands away, but his movements are sluggish and uncoordinated.

"Come on, open your eyes."

Sam finally complies, blinking at Dean with something that looks like confusion on his face.

"You with me, Sammy?" Dean asks.

"Mm… Dean…"

Sam's eyes wander around the cemetery, not really focusing on anything. _Great. _

"Hey, look at me. Sam?" Dean takes Sam's face in his hands and forces him to look back at him, but Sam's eyes keep sliding away.

"SAM!" he snaps, and Sam jumps, and it looks like he's seeing Dean for the first time since he woke up.

"Dean? Wha… Wha happen…?" Sam slurs.

"Casper threw you into a gravestone," says Dean, "Think you can get up now?"

Sam's not sure. He's not even sure what Dean's asking him. It sounds like he's underwater, which would make sense because his head's swimming. And it hurts. Why does his head hurt?

"Because you smacked it on the gravestone," Dean says, sounding both frustrated and worried, and Sam wonders when Dean became a mind-reader, "Come on, Sammy, let's get you on your feet."

Dean does most of the work, hauling Sam to his feet, because Sam's legs feel like rubber. No, maybe it's jelly. Yeah, that's right. Jelly. The blue stuff is his favourite.

"Dude, you're really out of it," Dean says with a soft chuckle as they stumble towards the Impala.

Sam's legs aren't working properly and the ground seems to dip and swell just in front of him, but when he puts his foot on it, it's level, throwing his balance all out of whack. Dean props him against the side of the car while he opens the passenger door, then helps him get in. Sam feels like he's sixteen again, all arms and legs that don't end where he thinks they do. His stomach finally has had enough of the unsteady world and he barely has time to lean out the door before he loses his dinner. Dean makes a disgusted noise, but his hand rubs soothing circles on Sam's back. He's sitting in the driver's seat. Sam doesn't remember Dean getting in the car. His head's pounding.

"You ok now?" Dean asks, keeping his voice low because he knows Sam's hurting.

"Think so."

Sam pulls the door closed and winces at the noise.

"We're going to the next motel, about ten miles away. You let me know if you're gonna hurl again, 'kay?"

"Yeah. M'good."

The car starts up, the steady rumble changing into a throaty growl as Dean accelerates onto the highway. Sam rests against the door, his face pressed against the cool glass of the window. He wakes up to Dean shaking his shoulder gently and calling his name. He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep.

"Come on, Sam," Dean says, "Come on, wake up."

"M'wake…" Sam mumbles, trying hard to be coherent.

"You've got a concussion," explains Dean, "No sleeping."

Sam grumbles something that's probably rude when he's lucid, but right now it comes out a jumble of unintelligible gibberish. There's an amused snort from Dean. Time passes in a haze of pain and exhaustion, and Dean patting his shoulder when he drifts off.

"Rise and shine, Sammy," and Sam jumps, because Dean's on the other side of him now and there's a cold breeze on his face.

"Take it easy. We're at the motel," Dean says softly, guilt lacing his voice as he watches the panic fade from Sam's eyes.

He pulls Sam upright, again, only this time Sam's muscles protest – a combination of being thrown into a gravestone and curling up awkwardly in the Impala afterwards, Sam thinks – and they walk unsteadily to the motel room. Sam's head is still spinning but his stomach seems to have settled. Dean lays him on a bed, and Sam's eyes close as he sinks into the mattress. Dean pats his cheek a little harder than Sam thinks is necessary.

"Stay with me, Sammy," he orders, "Gotta clean you up, and then ask you some questions. You pass out now and I'm dragging you to the hospital."

Dean's threat is more out of fear than annoyance. Sam blinks slowly, tries to make his eyes focus. Dean keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he cleans Sam's head.

"Nothing's broken," he says, "You're gonna be feeling it tomorrow though."

Then Dean's taping a piece of gauze across the wound and demanding Sam's full attention.

"Name?" Dean asks, "Come on, man, you gotta focus. Your name?"

"S'Sam."

"Good boy. Date?"

"S' February nineteenth… Monday. Hate Mondays," and Sam lets his eyes close again.

"How do you kill a werewolf?"

Sam doesn't bother opening his eyes to answer.

"Silver… in th' heart."

Dean doesn't disturb him this time, and Sam knows he got the answer right.

"Ok. Sleep now, Sammy. I'll wake you again in a couple of hours, ok?"

Sam mumbles something that Dean supposes is an affirmative as Dean pulls the blanket over him. He stands up, stretches stiff muscles, and then heads out to the Impala to bring in their duffle bags. When he comes back inside, Sam's curled up on his side but Dean can tell he's not sleeping, knows that Sam doesn't feel safe enough to let his headache drag him into unconsciousness without Dean in the room. Dean sits on the edge of his own bed and starts taking his gun apart. He won't be sleeping much tonight, so he may as well get some work done while he's awake. And Sam drifts off to the sound of Dean humming some familiar tune while cleaning their weapons, and he knows it's ok to let go.

**END**

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><p><strong><strong>AN: ****Apologies for any medical or salt and burn inaccuracies, and the sappy ending. After the last episode (9x13) I needed to write something kinda sappy!


	7. This Doesn't Freak Me Out

**I Won't Let You Fall**

_Dean is always there for his little brother. Angst, hurt/comfort, whump, and plenty of brotherly love._

**A/N: **this chapter is for **Jenjoremy **who requested something "set in late season one or early season 2 with Dean comforting Sam through and after a migraine." I hope this is good enough for you!

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven: This Doesn't Freak Me Out<strong>

**(set one week after 1x14 "Nightmare")**

The sound infiltrates Dean's dreams, a muffled whimper, heavy breathing, tugging him back to full awareness. He opens his eyes. The room is dark but there's a streetlight shining through the gap in the curtain, casting a thin bar of light over the beds. Dean can see Sam moving restlessly under his blanket, and the soft sounds of distress are his.

"Sam?" Dean's voice is croaky from sleep.

"D…Dean…"

Sam's voice sounds even rougher, and Dean's immediately concerned. He sits up, blankets pooling around his waist.

"Sam, what is it?" he asks, all thoughts of sleep completely gone.

Sam muffles a groan into the pillow. Dean throws the blankets off and takes the three strides to Sam's bed in two. Sam's curled up on his side facing Dean, but his chin's tucked down so Dean can't see his face and his hands are holding his head. Dean's stomach twists as he grabs Sam's shoulder.

"Sammy?! Talk to me, man, tell me what's going on."

He might be panicking just a bit. It's only been a few weeks since Saginaw and the image of Sam collapsing on the floor, gasping in pain as his eyes lose focus is still fresh in his mind. The whole vision thing scared Dean more than he'd ever admit to his brother.

"Sam!"

Sam finally reacts, shifting one hand from the side of his head to reach blindly for Dean. Dean sits on the edge of the bed so Sam can hold on to his arm, which Sam does, clinging desperately like a drowning man.

"Is it your head?" Dean asks, but he already knows the answer.

"Yeah," Sam chokes out, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead.

"Vision?"

"Don't think so," Sam says, voice barely more than a whisper, "Don't… don't yell."

Dean's pretty sure he wasn't yelling, but he lowers his voice further anyway.

"Alright, hang on," he says, low and soft, "I'll get you something. Don't move."

Sam groans, but he releases his grip on Dean's arm as Dean stands up.

"No lights," Sam says, so quiet Dean nearly misses it.

"Yeah, ok."

As he digs through their bags in the dark for some painkillers, Dean mentally kicks himself for not noticing Sam's distress sooner. He'd been looking at the beginning of a migraine since they'd stopped at a diner two hours ago, where Sam had been rubbing his temple and only picked at his food. He'd flinched away from the light when Dean had switched it on when they arrived at the motel. He'd showered and then crawled into bed, and Dean had overlooked it all.

"Here," Dean says, handing Sam two pills and a plastic cup of water.

Sam slowly sits up on one elbow, wincing in pain. He swallows the pills and swigs the water, and Dean's too late to caution him to take it slow. Sam's face pales just after he lies down again and he starts swallowing hard.

"You gotta keep that down, Sammy," Dean says, very quietly.

Sam slowly rolls onto his stomach and groans into the pillow again, breathing hard and fast.

"You're gonna be fine, just give it a few minutes."

Sam doesn't respond, and his knuckles are white where he's squeezing the edge of the mattress. Dean sits beside him, slowly, because every movement seems to be causing Sam pain. His hand hovers uncertainly for a moment before gently resting on Sam's back.

"Migraine, huh?" Dean asks, one more time, just to be sure.

"Mmhmm," Sam mumbles, his face pressed against the pillow, "Pre'y'sure."

Dean doesn't know what else to do, so he just waits, sitting beside Sam with his hand between his shoulder blades, until Sam slowly melts into the mattress and lets out a long sigh of relief. Dean feels all the tension leaving his brother's muscles.

"Better?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes slowly.

"You need anything else?"

"M'good."

And as if to prove it, he's asleep within five minutes. Dean waits until he's sure Sam's really asleep, and then he stands up and pulls the blanket over Sam. He tugs the curtains fully closed so the sunlight won't be as strong in the morning and leaves a cup of water on Sam's side of the nightstand along with the bottle of painkillers. The last addition is a trashcan nudged close enough that Sam can just lean over the edge of the bed to use it, just in case. But after that Dean spends long time lying awake watching Sam, reassuring himself his little brother is fine. Sam's breathing is slow and steady, snoring softly because his nose is squished against the pillow. A migraine they can deal with. Migraines are normal. Dean's hand slides under his pillow, closing lightly around the handle of his knife, and closes his eyes. _This doesn't freak me out._ Yeah, right.

**END**

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><p><strong>AN: **reviews are appreciated!


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